


Nice Work if you can get it

by bleedingstories



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Angst, Climitri, Clive is so edgy, M/M, Science Fortress, THIS STORY HAS A HAPPY ENDING, There's just a lot of suffering to get through, have fun, welp, whoop!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-24 13:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8373529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedingstories/pseuds/bleedingstories
Summary: A small child in a red jumper. A pessimistic Clive free from prison with no money and a target on his back...Nice work if you can get itAnd you can get it if you try~!





	

[Overture (Click here first)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tpAhiRquFIM)

Of course it's raining.

 

If this were America, I would likely be remarking on how it seems to symbolize my fucking life so far. On how I get released from prison, with no place to go, with my face plastered all over the fucking papers, with my status as a wanted crimina-no, as a terrorist; as _the mastermind_ behind the "massacre of the century". On how I get out of prison with a target on my back and all of my money in the pockets of Lawyers who want nothing more to do with me than the money and credit of getting _me_ of all people out of jail. On how I walk out of prison with all of this knowledge and it's fucking raining and the sky is grey and the guards , and even prisoners, are all glaring at me as I walk by them.

 I would likely be saying "Just great" If this was happening in America.

But it's not happening in America, it's happening in London. And I know enough from growing up in London that it should be raining like it usually does. Except for it's habit of switching between rain and shine on a constant. I swear, our weather is as fucking indecisive as Dimitri is when he’s picking out his outfit for the day. When we worked together, I recall that he would spend half of the morning making sure he picked out the right outfit. Even his outfit as an evil Professor Layton from the Future was being picked and repicked until I left to meet Layton and Luke. At that point I had to tell him to hurry up and pick one before he wasted the bloody day fretting over an outfit like a grown man child.

It seemed to smarten him up and he had his outfit picked out on time. (Though I wish now that I never bothered, and he wasn’t changed on time. Perhaps things could have gone differently…)

Still, that morning (like many mornings with Dimitri) is still amusing to me. I must be smirking at the memory, because I get rapped on the arm sharply by the guard to my right. I wince and pull away, I’m not as strong as I used to be. To his credit, he doesn’t snarl, or say _“watch it boy_!” as one of the other guards might do in this situation.

“ _I do apologize_.” I manage weakly. This guard, out of all the guards, is a nice one. He’s the only one that seems to get the universal code of “Give respect to get respect” that I’ve learned in these prison walls. And I’m sure he hates me as much as the other guards, but he’s always respected me, so he’s the only one I’m willing to apologize to.

Though I have so many people I need to apologize to; I know I’ll never be able to, no matter what I do for the rest of my life, I cannot undo what I’ve done. This reminder pushes me back into that familiar sensation of guilt and self-hatred and I hang my head; the dull throbbing pain in my head starts, and in a way I look forward to it. Mostly because it’s something familiar, something stable that grounds me so my mind doesn’t go elsewhere.

All three of us (me and the guards escorting me) exit the building and I’m technically free. Forgive me, but the thought of stepping onto cold pavement and being left out in the world and vulnerable isn’t exactly comforting. But I have no choice. One of us had to be free, and Dimitri, stupid man that he is, insisted I go free instead of him. I appreciate him doing it, but he fails to realise that I’m the one that the world wants dead, not him.

If I didn’t know him so well, I would swear that that was his intention.

Despite what I did and how much the guards seem to hate me (if you haven’t gotten that by now) I’m still a citizen. So that means that the guards have to look after my rights, despite the fact that none of us want them to; so they do a quick scan of the area to see if anyone is lurking in the shadows, waiting to assassinate me.  Despite their thorough action of craning their necks, none of us see the boy appear on the sidewalk. It seems he appeared there suddenly and without the authorities sensing him while they were craning their necks.

That seems to be reason enough for alarm because the burly fellow on my left (who I refer to as “bad cop” because I ever bothered to learn his name) jogs over to the boy to probably berate him. I study the boy, mainly because I noticed that he was staring at me earlier and if he wants to study the criminal, then two can play that game.

He has a mess of strawberry blond hair, knotted in curls, and green-brown eyes that would normally be known as “hazel”. But I’m not sure if I like this child, so I’m describing his eyes as green-brown. But to his credit, they’re rather large, like one of those big eye art pieces. They seem to widen when they spot me.

“Great, I’ve created another me.” I think. The one good thing about being so hated is that every young Clive Dove I’ve created will see me and think “I don’t want to become like him” And then they won’t grow up to be like me.

The messy hair green-brown large eyed child also has an over sized red jumper that seems to overwhelm him; and he tugs on it, almost self-consciously as bad cop jogs up to him, asking him what business could he have outside of  the London Prison.  The large eyed child pouts at the officer, and to my surprise I chuckle. Despite my reputation and what people may think of me, I’m actually fond of children, and hoped to have some of my own one day; but that was before I threw everything away.

I must look pathetic, because Owain, the nice officer on my right who doesn’t hate me entirely, calls me.

“What is it?j” I crane my neck to look at him, hoping he gets my joke. He doesn’t, instead he hands me a card. It’s the name of a shelter.  Owain clears his throat; it’s a large sound despite his small stature.

“I checked all of the shelters in London, and this one is willing to accept you.” He says, tapping the card before adding. “….And there’s a café nearby. It’s usually busy because it has all sorts of employees with…” More throat clearing “…sketchy pasts. So I was thinking you could-“

He’s cut off. Not by me hugging him as one might in this situation but by me closing my hand over his and gently taking the card away. I would hug Owain but I’m not exactly healthy right now and he might crush me. So I nod at him, hoping that suffices for a thank you because I cannot articulate my feelings at his kindness and I don’t have the energy to properly hug him right now.

“Thank you.” I add awkwardly, and Owain nods back. They might try to escort me to said shelter, but I think I can manage. It isn’t in my list of priorities to make it there alive anyway.

Bad cop jogs back towards us, informing us that he chased off the loitering child. Owain lectures him on how he should have made sure the child was okay and escort that child home but Bad cop insists that any child hanging outside of a prison, especially on the day that I get out, is probably up to no good anyway and can likely handle themselves.

I must say I have to agree.  But still, something within me worries for the boy. His eyes widened at me, so I assume he was afraid of me; and if he wanted to hurt me, he would have been more discreet about it. This leads me to believe that he’s harmless, and actually not suited for this area.

But…he could be trying to trick me. Despite my lack of will to live, my paranoia kicks in and I quickly compose a list of how to fend off a child half my size wearing an oversized Red Jumper.

It’s at that point that I remember something. I was escorted out the back exit, and it was done so discreetly. Because there’s press in the front of the prison waiting to crowd me and ask me all sorts of questions I’m uncomfortable with answering. So miraculously enough, the prison is allowing me to leave in secret while they distract the press.

In conclusion, I only have so much time before they suspect that something is amiss with their situation up front and come snooping around for me. Owain and Bad Cop must know this too because they look at each other, then they yell at me to hurry up and get lost.

So with one last nod at each of them  I do.

Let me tell you. I remember the streets of London extremely well, but I swear that people are suddenly occupying every bloody back alley today. So I have to get creative in getting to the shelter. I’m halfway through and I feel a tiny bit of hope. It’s sickening because as you and I both know, this story isn’t going to end well.

But one man’s face pushes that thought aside. One not necessarily attractive, but kind man, who gave me all of my reasons so far for pushing on.

So I do. And I imagine him smiling and it seems to help. I keep pushing on  and finally I see the shelter. I get the sense that it houses the outcasts of society (Mainly because it’s going to be housing me soon) so I’m surprised at how lovely it looks. There’s a set of clear glass doors dominating the front and a balcony that rests perfectly above the main entrance. Red buildings pop out past the shelter on both sides of it. The left building seems to be the Café. How do I know this? Well, with the brown sign in the shape of a coffee cup, I’d say my guess is pretty accurate.

I walk up the doors, and grasp a handle. It feels cool and clean. Not grimy or rusted like most of the things at the prison. Everything within me is screaming to die. But I pull on the handle anyway, noticing now the front desk and the secretaries who are stationed there.  I know I have to talk to them and explain my situation and hope that they’ll take me in. I feel fairly confident they will.

I take one step, then another. _This is really happening._ I think.

It’s on my third step that someone grabs me and I’m taken away. The secretaries don’t seem to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no notes for this chapter!!  
> Other than...woo! Here we go! Akasha I hope you enjoy this. I promise the next chapter will have a lot more Climitri!  
> Also..Sorry for the cliffhanger!


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